Daughters of Anarchy: Book 4: Daughters of Anarchy, #4

By C.A. Hartman

Stevie will take down the enemy. Even if she must go down with it.

In the fourth and final book of Daughters of Anarchy, Stevie and the DOA face their biggest challenge yet. Stevie knows the truth about Imelda Jane, and she's determined to hunt down her killer. Leona is dead-set not just on exposing the Federal Watch Program, but on destroying it altogether. And in the background, Stevie hasn't forgotten what matters most: the plans she made with Seth. 

However, the harder Stevie and the DOA work to expose the Feds for the crooked agents they are, the more obstacles they face. Seth grows more uneasy about Stevie's treacherous activities. The DOA faces a massive setback that could destroy them. When Stevie begins pursuing a side job, she becomes obsessed and makes a discovery so horrifying that it pushes her to take a huge risk… and pay the ultimate price.

• Language: English
• Publisher: 5280 Press
• Release date: Sep 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9780998944517

Book preview

1 FUCK UP THE ESTABLISHMENT

The odor of freshly ground coffee and baked goods permeated the cafe, which was filled with black-coated citizens gathering their strength for another day at work. Stevie sat at an epoxy table in the cafe’s back corner, her triple espresso half gone as she took another bite of her buttered croissant. How delicious both tasted.

Seth sat across from her in a crisp gray shirt. He took another swig of his khaki, his chocolate croissant untouched on his plate as he eyed her. What the fuck happened? he said, managing to keep his voice down. I heard voices, and next thing I know they’re escorting you from the Disc. And now you’re suspended?

Stevie set her espresso down. I got pulled into a meeting upstairs with Mullen and Hicks. And Prince, she added, watching Seth’s concerned look shift to one of irritation. They leaned on me. Prince produced a dark hair they claimed they got from Miashi’s second level, from when we… She trailed off, not wanting to speak aloud about that terrible night they both wanted to forget. They suspect I’m part of the DOA and they had evidence to hang over my head. They demanded a sample of my DNA, saying they could work with me to ‘control the damage.’

You didn’t give it to them, did you?

Of course not. It got ugly after that and they suspended me. She left out the details of the ugliness itself, of Prince’s unsavory methods of shattering her confidence in front of Mullen and Hicks. Such methods still rankled her, but they would push Seth to levels of rage that would serve no one and only cause more trouble.

Do they have something on you or not?

Nothing but suspicion… and that hair. Prince will take care of the hair.

How?

He’ll use his dead sister’s DNA. Same gender, same ethnic background. Without that evidence, they have nothing connecting me to the murders. The news was still buzzing about the deaths of Angry Cop, the Police Commissioner, and two others high up in the City hierarchy. The Feds badly wanted to pin it on the DOA, to blame a bunch of female terrorists and their hatred of authority, instead of investigating the truth about the kind of men that led the City’s police force.

And you trust Princeton to get that done, Seth said, looking unconvinced.

I do. Once he provides evidence that it wasn’t me, that will be that. I should be back to work in the next day or two.

Whose hair is it?

I don’t know. It’s probably mine.

Seth sighed, finally taking a big bite of his chocolate croissant. I’ll be glad when you rid yourself of this shit and we can go on with our lives.

Stevie hesitated, dread coming over her. About that…

The wrinkle between Seth’s brows returned. Let me guess, you aren’t quitting.

Not yet.

Did you even tell them your plans? he said, annoyed.

I told Leona. I told her I was done with this kind of service. And I told her about my goal to create a place where victims of violent crime can get help and support, where we can educate the public and hopefully influence lawmakers. That’s still what I want most, Seth. She paused. But they need me, just for a little longer, just until they can gather what they need to take down Mullen. Then I’m out. And there’s good news… I won’t be working in the field anymore. No more putting myself at risk.

That had the effect Stevie had hoped for, and Seth’s brow winkle disappeared. But he still didn’t look happy. We can’t move in together.

I know. I regret that too. I’m going to find a new place to live, one that’s cheaper, so I can save money for the victims’ center. I was thinking about Salvia. That way, we can see each other more easily.

I want you to live with me. And I’m tired of hiding what we have.

Me too. And she was. But when Prince pleaded with her to stick with them a little longer, she couldn’t say no. Not after all they’d done for her.

Here’s the thing, Stevie, Seth said, eyes boring into hers. You say it’s just a little longer, but these things always get more complicated than you think they will. This is no small job. He leaned forward. Remember that speech I gave you, the one you said I would have to repeat over and over again? The one where I tell you I understand the desire to want to protect yours, and how you feel like a fucking traitor for backing out? But with the DOA on the watch lists now, Awn getting dimed, and new technology like gait analysis working in the Disc’s favor, your odds of getting cuffed are higher than ever. If you get locked up, you’re done. You lose everything: your ability to serve, your friends, me… everything that matters to you.

I know.

Then why do this?

Stevie sighed, realizing she would have to tell Seth all of it, despite the risks to him. They went after Awn.

Who went after Awn?

The Feds. She told Seth about Awn being accosted by two men on the street. I ID’d them. They’re Intel men. And that’s not all… Tears came to her eyes and she lowered her voice to a whisper. Seth, they killed my mother. Her death wasn’t an accident and Prince confirmed it. She hadn’t been DOA for almost twenty years, and she hadn’t done even a fraction of the things I’ve done. She stood up for the people, for their rights. She challenged the government. And they killed her for it. She wiped the tears that dampened her cheeks.

Seth watched her, his expression a mixture of compassion and skepticism. You’re sure this is true, and not Princeton trying to manipulate you? That’s what those Intel motherfuckers do, you know.

I know. But I don’t think that’s the case here. It makes sense.

I’m sorry. About your mom.

Thank you. She eyed him. You don’t you look all that surprised. You didn’t know, did you?

Of course not. After the shit I’ve seen… nothing surprises me anymore. He studied her face. I’m glad your face has healed. That night… he trailed off, shaking his head.

Angry Cop. His attack. The ugliness of it all. Don’t talk about it. It’s over.

It got personal, for both of us. We should’ve known better.

Agreed. It won’t happen again.

---

Director Mullen requests greater latitude with Federal Watch data.

Stevie rolled her eyes as she read the headline. Of course he did. With Ronald Carr long dead and the fear of terrorist attack still lingering in the air like the stench of a rotting carcass, Mullen had embarked on achieving the goal he’d longed for, probably since the moment he knew he would take his position as Director.

Authoritarians make for dangerous leaders, Steviansa. They want the people to serve the government, rather than the other way around.

You took an authoritarian stance when raising me. What does that say about you?

That I was a damaged woman who had no idea how to parent.

Stevie sighed. Her mother was dead, and at the hands of those who seemed to be transforming from irritating adversary into arch enemy. Imelda Jane Maples died for opposing authority, for speaking out about the government’s proper role, for challenging those who coveted their power like a Financial covets his assets. Once Prince revealed that truth, it all made sense. Stevie couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before.

She sat in her dark suit and drank her espresso, her egg and cheese sandwich now only crumbs on her plate. Instead of a favorite cafe, she sat at her own dining table, enjoying the dark elixir and breakfast she’d made herself. No longer could she support the local eateries in the way she had for so many years. She had a new goal now, a lustrous goal that filled her with hope, but it cost money. A lot of money.

On the shuttle, Stevie stood aside as everyone fought for the remaining open seats. She gazed out the freshly cleaned windows as the shuttle made its way above the City. They entered a layer of low clouds, rendering the City below obscured from view.

It was her first day back after her brief suspension. Prince had produced the DNA lab results that exonerated her and placed blame on a half-black, half-white woman they would never find. After the facial and iris matching produced no result for the woman in the footage at Miashi’s second level, and after Prince threw in a couple of helpful anecdotes about her bringing sandwiches to the street dwellers and working for Rebuild Viola on weekends, Mullen had little choice but to back off and let her resume her duties. Stevie suspected that Mullen’s acquiescence could also have resulted from his cautious nature. He couldn’t afford the negative press of firing an employee based on little more than suspicion, which could harm his goal of obtaining permission to use the Watch data for purposes beyond preventing more terrorism.

When Stevie arrived at the Disc, she felt others’ eyes on her as she proceeded to her workstation. Those who typically paid her no mind now wondered why security had escorted her out days ago under Hicks’s order. Such suspicion didn’t help her situation, given that suspicion was nearly synonymous with guilt at the Disc. She needed to be cautious. She needed to keep her job as long as possible, for the DOA. And for her mother.

After turning on her computer and her screens, she quickly discovered that, as Prince predicted, they’d removed some of her permissions for accessing data. That meant someone in charge—likely Herbie—would have to grant her access anytime she was assigned a new project, and she would only have access to that specific dataset for a specific period of time. They would carefully track her use of the data. She had ways around such limitations, if necessary. But such changes didn’t bode well for her at the Disc, and Stevie had the feeling her service to the Federal Watch program would end sooner than she’d planned.

Later, when she visited Machine and his caffeinated offerings, she caught a glimpse of Seth’s tightly cut blond hair as he toiled away in his workstation. A flood of warmth ran through her. How she wished she could go to his station, sit on his lap, and take in the odor of sandalwood as she snuggled against him.

Instead, she protected Seth’s interests—and her own—and took her steaming espresso back to her desk.

---

When the elevator stopped at the 34 th floor, Stevie stepped into her hallway, her eyes on Virgil’s door. She knocked. The door opened, and there stood her Acacian neighbor. The color had almost returned to his face, but Virgil still looked tired since the night she’d fed him dinner, during what may have been the bottom of his trajectory with alcohol.

Hey, Stevie… His eyes brightened a bit. What’s going on?

I’m just checking on you. How are you feeling?

Better, he said, stepping aside to let her in. He’d cleaned up his apartment, and a brief scan of the place offered nary a beer bottle or any other signs of use. The withdrawals are killin’ me, but goin’ to them meetings has made all the difference and they got me on some stuff that helps.

Good. I’ll give you some herbs that will help, too. They both took a seat on Virgil’s couch. Have you talked to Bess?

He sighed. Yeah. She won’t see me, though. Says she wants to talk to you first.

Me?

Yeah. I told her all you’ve done for me and I think she trusts you.

I’ll give you my number. She can call me anytime.

Thanks, Stevie. Hey, I did some thinkin’ about work and all. I’m gonna start my own business, like we talked about. I’ve learned some shit workin’ for the guy who fired me, and my dad taught me a bunch growin’ up, before he took off. I don’t want to use my savings, but I will. And once I start gettin’ jobs, I can pay it back.

Stevie smiled, hope rising in her. That sounds like a good plan. If you need money in the meantime, I can put you in touch with my friends who run the Rebuild Viola project. The pay isn’t great, but it’s something and it could open doors for future jobs, especially now that Viola is finally undergoing its infrastructure repair.

Thanks, Stevie, Virgil said, looking grateful. I never woulda thought of that.

Later that evening, as Stevie sat reading in her white plush robe, there was a quiet knock at her door. When she glanced at her hall surveillance, Bess stood there in a black coat, her yellow-blonde hair framing a nervous face.

Hi, Stevie said as she opened her door. Come on in, Bess.

Is it too late?

Not at all.

After Bess sat down on the couch, Stevie offered her a beverage. She declined, sitting with her coat still buttoned all the way up. She cleared her throat and began. Virg’s been calling me a lot. I wouldn’t talk to him, but then he told me about starting his own business and that he’s quitting drinking and going to those meetings. Well, he wore me down, and so I said I’d talk to him. He wanted to come to my place, but I said I wanted to talk to you first. He said you’ve been a real friend to him.

I try. That’s what neighbors are for.

He wants me back. But I don’t want to be with an addict. My daddy was one, and I hated him. I still hate him. Virg says he’s going to quit for good, but my dad said that shit a hundred times and he always went back to it. She paused. The problem is… I love him. Virgil, not my dad. Other than the drinking, he’s the best man I’ve ever met. It’s hard to find good men in this City, with the war killing off more men than women and all. They’re either dealing drugs, using drugs, or sleeping with all the ladies they can get.

Stevie nodded. He is a good one.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can trust him, you know?

I do. Do you want my advice?

Bess nodded.

Give him one more chance, but make your requirements known. He has to quit for good. Then, make sure he sticks with his sobriety. He needs to keep going to the meetings, which he’ll probably resist—

He’s at one right now, she said hopefully. One of the late ones… they go there instead of going out drinking…

Good. Be with him, but make no commitments—no moving in together, no marriage, no children—until he’s proven he can be sober for at least a year, ideally two.

Like probation.

Exactly. If he’s serious about you and about the future he wants, he’ll stay sober. If he chooses alcohol, you’ll have lost a year or two, but you can get out without too many scrapes.

She nodded. Yeah. I like that. Give him another chance and let him choose what he wants.

Yes. It has to be that way. He has to choose. I recommend that you attend some meetings, too. Learn more about addiction and what Virgil’s dealing with. This will be the toughest thing he’s ever done.

Bess smiled, lighting up her face. Thanks, Stevie.

---

Seth opened the heavy black door to the Hogbelly Bar. Stevie hesitated for just a moment before going inside, where the din of chattering patrons and the familiar odor of stale beer greeted them. Having Seth by her side on such an errand made her feel at once more comfortable and more vulnerable.

The other patrons eyed them briefly as they passed the tables filled with Salvians drinking beer and snacking on bowls of potato chips. Their eyes dwelt more on her than Seth, who looked and walked like military and thus fit in with some of the patrons. Yet, even with her darker skin and her denim and black trench tagging her as an outsider, none eyed her with the same wariness as when she’d last visited in the dark suit of a Fed.

They sat down at the end of the bar, and that’s when she spotted him. Bartender. Salt and pepper hair, brown eyes, fair skin, and with the same wary look in his eye. She went to point him out to Seth, but Seth was already a step ahead of her, his eyes zeroed in on her biological father. Suddenly, she grew nervous.

I don’t know, Seth, she said quietly.

You can do this. I’m right here with you.

Bartender noticed he had two new customers and made his way over. He glanced at Seth for only a moment before his eyes shifted to her.

Get you something? he said.

Stevie hesitated, tempted to order the whiskey she’d acquired a taste for but had sworn off.

Beer for me, Seth said. And a sarsaparilla for the lady.

Bartender gave a nod and retrieved two bottles, opening each and plunking them down on the bar. Stevie produced some currency and slid it forward, struggling to conjure up a way to begin. Before she could, Bartender eyed her again. You were here before, weren’t you?

Stevie nodded.

You’re the Fed.

Good memory.

He crossed his arms in front of him, his eyes still on her. That’s the day my favorite cup disappeared. He motioned to a new metal cup, one of lesser size and lesser quality. You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?

Stevie’s face grew hot, and she couldn’t tell whether it was due to shame for her petty theft or to Bartender’s impressive mental acuity. She reached into her bag and produced the handcrafted metal mug, cleaned and polished until it shone. Bartender scowled, surprised his vague suspicion had proven correct, as if hoping but never expecting to see his favorite cup again. He took the cup and inspected it for a moment.

What the fuck? he finally said, accusing brown eyes on her again.

Do you recall a woman named Imelda Jane Maples? From the first war?

Bartender gave no reply, the cogs of long-term memory turning in his mind but his face showing no signs of recognition. Fear descended upon her. What if he didn’t remember her mother at all? What if too much time had passed, or she’d only been one of numerous women, one of many past experiences that blended together in a mishmash of fragmented memories? Such a reality would make Stevie’s quest all the tougher. Then, his face changed. Recognition, along with a half-smile… and something else she couldn’t identify. But it faded as soon as it came.

I asked first, he said coldly. What were you doing with my goddamn cup?

Stevie felt Seth bristle next to her.

I promise I’ll explain the cup, she said. Imelda Jane is my mother. You know her from the Karvok skirmish… and afterward.

That was over thirty years ago. He glanced at Seth, then eyed her again. What is this? Is she looking for me? Is she in some kind of trouble?

No. She died a few years ago.

Oh, he said, surprised. Sorry to hear it.

I know you and she were… involved… for a short time. What you don’t know is that after you returned from overseas, she became pregnant during your convalescence and later bore a child. I took your cup to get a sample of your DNA.

Jonathan Morton stared at her, not taking long to assemble the multitude of puzzle pieces together until they formed a whole picture, one that bore a resemblance to the coffee-skinned woman who sat before him. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Stevie glanced at Seth, who took his cue and stood from his seat as she did the same. I’m not kidding. I’m your biological daughter. She pulled out a plastic card. That’s my contact information, if you ever want to talk.

And with that, Stevie turned away from the man who gaped at her, the man who’d donated half of his deoxyribonucleic acid in the form of structured and organized chromosomes to help create the zygote that became her, Steviansa Maples. They left the Hogbelly Bar.

---

Scintillations, my fine lady. Early as usual.

Stevie smiled at the denim-overalled woman before her, Leona’s tawny mohawk long and flowing down the back of her head. She hugged her, feeling Leona’s sturdy muscles. When they separated, Leona put her hands on Stevie’s shoulders.

I know it’s selfish, she said, but I’m so fucking glad to see you. You have no idea how much we need you right now. Her smiled faded a little. And hey, I know you’ve got plans and I respect the shit out of those plans. But the fact that you agreed to stay and help us means to world to me, and to Awn too, even if she doesn’t do a good job of showing it.

Stevie glanced over at Awn, who puffed away on a vaping device as she lounged on the couch, reading. Her dark hair still lacked its signature gray streak. Thank you, Leona. I appreciate that. She lowered her voice. Can we talk?

Leona nodded, motioning toward the bedroom. They went inside, shut the door, and sat down on the bed.

How much did Prince tell you… about Mullen and my suspension? Stevie asked.

Not much. Just that he got you out of a pickle with Mullen and his cronies. And that they suspect you.

They killed my mother, Leona. The Feds… they killed her.

Leona’s eyes turned dark. What?

"They went out to the Rim to pull a bust, things got violent, and they took the opportunity to target my mother. They knew she was DOA but they couldn’t prove it. They didn’t like her anti-establishment views and saw her as a threat. Prince told me that